Sniper Shot
by began-to-climb
Summary: What if Michael had miscalculated the sniper shot in riot Part 2 and the sniper hadn't missed?


**Name: **Sniper Shot

**Rating: **PG-13

**Summary: **What if Michael had miscalculated the sniper's shot and they hadn't missed? What would be the consequences?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters.

**A/N: **This is a what if, so no flames, please. It'll pick up from where that scene began.

XXXX

Sara raced through the many passages of the Fox River State Penitentiary, heart and mind drilling, as Michael Scofield ran hot on her heels. She shot a look over her shoulder to check on him, making sure he hadn't abandoned her; he was the one directing her now. He told her to just go straight ahead and quick enough Sara stopped. She was in one of the main rooms that led outside to the yard, where they took the inmates through. Sara spun on her heel and faced her run away companion, breathing heavily. Michael told her to go, head to the yard surrounded with swat officers, swirling lights and nervously waiting people.

Sara looked over her shoulder then back at Michael, her red hair nearly slapping her in the face. "I can't leave you here." she pleaded.

"You have to. I'm one of the bad guys, remember?" Michael said with a smile, trying to lighten the mood.

Off in the distance, the yells of the angry inmates who were on pursuit of them reverberated through the silent halls. Sara swallowed; she couldn't just leave him. "What are you gonna do?"

Michael placed his hands high on his waist, glancing around as he tried to catch his breath. "Back to my cell. Stay out of the way."

As he talked, Sara's breath quickened again as fright overcame her. Boldly shining on Michael's chest, occasionally bobbing in place, was a red laser light; one that belonged to that of a sniper shooter. "Michael…"

Michael looked at Sara and, seeing the fright on her face, asked softly, "What?"

Sara suddenly threw her head over her shoulder, eyes roving over every inch of what she could see outside from there. "They see us."

Curious, Michael looked down at his chest, where Sara had been staring at, and saw the laser dot for the first time. His eyes ventured over Sara's head, staring straight at the sniper positioned across the yard on the roof, attempting to hide. "You have to go."

"I can't; they'll kill you." Sara said, eyes transfixed on Michael's chest.

Michael looked at his chest again, then stepped closer to Sara. "You go out the door, I'll drop to the floor."

"They're sharp shooters, Michael. They won't miss." Sara advised.

"That's why you can't stay here." Michael explained, confessing in his own cryptic form that he didn't want Sara to be in the way of any harm.

One of the black men chasing the pair walked confidently in the room, rustic pole rhythmically pounding his hand. "What's going on?"

Michael hesitated for a second, his senses trying to catch up before he felt his hands spin Sara around and push her towards the door. A scream erupted from Sara's lips that could have been heard for miles, but Michael could only hear the loud ringing in his ears. He suddenly couldn't move, couldn't sense anything but the blurred sight of Sara at his, her lips moving but no words coming out. The insects that had once been crawling in his stomach had transformed into a fiery pain.

His gaze dropped to where he saw Sara's eyes locked on. He touched a hand to it and saw that the crimson substance on his shirt was wet and sticky. He touched it again, realizing now that it was blood. He looked back up to the building and saw the sniper had disappeared. It instantly made sense; he had been shot. He kept his eyes on Sara, still talking to him words that he couldn't hear, as his legs gave way underneath him and he collapsed to the floor.

Sara dropped to her knees beside him. Being a doctor could only help her in this type of situation. She applied firm pressure to the wound in Michael's stomach. She tried to pry something from him, but when he parted his lips, nothing came out. She looked around, hoping someone would run through that door and offer assistance, then she realized that the men that had been chasing them had vanished, probably scared off by the gunshot. She screamed for help, her voice breaking as she continued to yell, but no one came. She wanted to cry.

Michael coughed and blood dribbled a line out of his lips. "Sara…" he managed to utter, catching Sara's attention. Her hand clasped on his cheek, soothingly stroking his cheek. "Sara, you have to take it out." he stumbled.

Sara stared at him, disbelief in her eyes. She didn't know if she could, as a doctor. She'd never had to remove a bullet with the correct surgical equipment. What if something happened? "Michael…I-I can't."

With the rest of his energy, Michael grasped her arm, silently pleading. "You have to. If you don't, I might die."

"You won't die, Michael."

"Then get it out!" he exclaimed.

About to burst into tears at the very sight, she nodded. Her hand started to shake as it moved over to the bullet wound, releasing her other hand to perform the task that had been asked. She didn't want to appear nervous to him—she wanted to look strong—so she sucked up her fear and didn't let it be shown. She poked her finger in the wound and could only cringe as Michael gasped, his body arching up towards her from the pain. His body didn't stiffen for a second, displaying full trust in her. Sara dug deeper until something metal slimmed with blood hit her fingertip. She looped her finger under the bullet and abruptly pulled it out, astounding even herself.

Sara smiled and showed the blood-crusted bullet to Michael, who looked ready to pass out. "Hey, it's out. See? I got it."

The sound of running feet against concrete graced Sara's ears a second before four guards entered the door, guns raised. One of them ordered Sara to move so they could keep an eye on Michael, but she easily warded them off. She demanded that paramedics be brought in to take Michael to the hospital. When no one moved, she said it again, louder, and two of the men retreated back outside, calling for medical assistance. Two of the guards remained in the room, watching over the doctor and prisoner.

Sara couldn't stop telling herself that she had to save Michael, not just because she was a doctor, but because she had to repay him. A riot had broken out earlier that day and she had been trapped in her office in the infirmary, huddled behind one of the examining beds as numerous inmates pounded the glass to get to her. She had been sure she was done for, but then suddenly there was Michael, stored away in the ceiling vents, offering his hand to her. He was there to save her. He got her out of that room just before the inmates broke in and would have surely gotten her. They stayed hidden in the vents for a bit, Michael making his best attempts to keep her calm, then they set off to escape.

They managed to maneuver through the labyrinth, easily finding an escapable gap to climb down to the floor. Michael had gone first, then came Sara's turn. She nearly tripped over herself, but Michael caught her, resulting in a moment filled with tension and Sara's utter desire to kiss him. That moment had been interrupted when the inmates from the infirmary found them, but Michael fought them all off, saving them both again. That's how they had ended up where they were. Sara had been curious how he knew how where to go, but she didn't bring it up again when Michael explained he had to do some mold reconstruction for PI.

"Sara…" Michael breathed, interrupting Sara's thoughts with the sound of his voice slowly slipping away. He reached a bloody hand up and caressed her cheek, leaving an evident blood smear on her perfectly smooth cheek.

"Michael, I need you to stay calm, okay? Help will be here in a second." Sara looked around wildly. "Where the hell are the paramedics?" she snapped at the man beside her, voice breaking again.

Right on cue, two paramedics escorting a gurney rushed in. They carefully transferred Michael onto the gurney and carried him out, running through the yard to the waiting ambulance. Sara followed them, easily keeping up the pace as she hastily discussed Michael's medical records and situation with the paramedics. They boarded Michael into the ambulance, hooking him to IV's and immediately beginning to work on him before taking off in a hurried frenzy.

Sara saw out of the corner of her eye Henry Pope and her father approach her. "Sara, come with us." her father suggested, tugging on Sara's arm to pull her from the scene, from Michael. Her eyes were focused on Michael, half-listening to her father. "This is the problem with these prisons. Too much violence happens within the walls. This is the wrong place for my daughter."

The Governor tugged on Sara's arm again, but Sara whipped around, anger flashing across her face. She yanked her arm free of his firm grasp and glared at him. She shot a glance at a concerned looking Pope. "Find Lincoln Burrows. Inform him of what has happened to his brother." she instructed menacingly. Pope reached out and held her back, not wanting to cause her any grief, but she screeched, "Let go of me!"

Alarmed, Pope released her and she climbed into the ambulance, despite the harsh words of her father, ordering her to return. A prison guard accompanied Sara, watching Sara situate herself beside Michael. The doors closed, locking them in, and the car roared to life, the sirens going off.

Michael coughed and tossed his head from side to side, looking around desperately. "Sara…Sara, where are you?"

"I'm here, Michael." She took his hand in her own and squeezed it, reassuring him. "I'm right here. I'm not going to leave you."

The car raced through the streets like a speed racer, zipping through the streets and other cars. Sara tenderly rubbed Michael's hand and kissed his bleeding knuckles. She never noticed the guard's eyes on them, eyebrow raised in surprise. Michael's eyes closed, slipping into unconsciousness.

XXXX

The several aftermath hours followed in a blur of red and blue as Michael and Sara were rushed to the hospital. Sara spent a panicked two hours pacing in the hall and talking to the Pope over the phone, arranging time when Lincoln could see his brother and phoning Michael's lawyer while he was in surgery.

She was sat outside in the waiting room, adjusting her position in the uncomfortable steel chair rhythmically, biting on her fingernail nervously. Michael's surgery was due to be winding down by now. When they had first arrived, the paramedics explained the case to the waiting doctors who had obviously heard about the injured riot inmate. A doctor appeared from behind the swinging doors still adorned in the scrubs from surgery and approached her.

"Doctor Tancredi?" he questioned.

Sara abruptly stood and wrung her hands together. "So, is he okay?"

"He'll be fine. The surgery ran smoothly, he's in recovery now. He's very lucky. You said it was a sniper shot and those men don't miss, but Mr. Scofield was lucky this time. The bullet just nicked his lung so not much damage was done. He'll survive." the doctor explained.

Sara heaved a sigh of relief. "Can I see him?"

The middle-aged man half shrugged. "I suppose. He probably won't be conscious, but you can see him. He's in two thirty-eight."

Sara nodded and brushed past the doctor, journeying out to find the room Michael was recovering in. She found it easily, with assistance from a nurse. She hesitated in entering, but took a breath and creaked open the door then slipping inside. The room was plain, as all the others: fluorescent lighting, white furniture, a television in the corner, and the bed facing the window with a nice view. Sara looked around for a couple minutes then focused on Michael. He was dressed in a short-sleeved nightgown and sleeping peacefully, the melodic beeping of the multiple machines surrounding him, monitoring every his heart beat and such, falling in beat with the rise and fall of his buff chest. He looked the same as ever, calm and collected.

Sara inched forward and pulled a chair up beside him, holding his hand, like a cliché. She licked her lips. "Michael, what happened today? Why did you save me when you didn't have to?"

She bowed her head then looked up in surprise when Michael's hand jumped in her own. His head was rolling from side to side, stirring awake. He opened his eyes, eyelids still heavy, and they settled on Sara. He lifted his head and a weak smile graced his lips. "Hi."

Sara smiled. "Hey."

"I thought you'd have left."

Sara shook her head. "I told you I wasn't going to leave you."

Michael relaxed his head against the pillows and closed his eyes. "So, what's the case, Doc?"

"You'll be fine, Michael. The bullet just missed your lung so you're one lucky man!" Sara giggled, amazed that Michael was still managing to keep up his charm act even in a time like this. "I called the Pope and I've arranged so Lincoln can come and see you."

She noticed then that Michael was watching her. "Thank-you."

Sara nodded. She leaned forward and tenderly kissed Michael on the forehead, a tear trembling down and hitting his cheek. She sat back, still holding his hand, and the two moved into a pleasant conversation. Today, there were no camera's, there was no Bellick; no one to watch them and scrutinize their relationship.

**FIN**


End file.
